Prison Hold
by GoddessOfYingandYang
Summary: Sylvester James Cooper is captured by Inspector Carmelita Fox, and sentenced to a prison built specially for Coopers. Sly thoughts from inside the prison, oneshot


_**A/N: This story idea came to me after I had already written another story. I chose this one instead of the other one, because it seemed like the better choice. I've been writing for awhile and played around with billions of ideas for Sly Cooper fictions, however I will not limit myself to just Sly Cooper, but I'm not going to start another fiction until this one is complete. This is shorter because it is just the prolouge, next chapter will be much longer.**_

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**On the ground I lay motionless in pain**  
**I can see my life flashing before my eyes**  
**Dead I fall asleep, is this all a dream**  
**Wake me up, I'm living a nightmare...**

**- Three Days Grace**

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**_-GoddessOfYingandYang-_**

**Generations**

**Prolouge**

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_**From birth**__** the members of the Cooper Clan are taught to be a certain way. **_

**They are dignified; they always present themselves with an air of confidence. Never do they enter a room, a battlefield, a heist thinking that they surely are looked down upon, are going to die at the hands of their enemy, that they will be caught. When they enter a room, they make themselves known to bystanders. When they march into a battlefield, they make sure to intimidate the enemy, to laugh in their face, even as the very blade slices into their heart. When they enter a heist, they make sure that the artifact is always in their possession, no matter what the cost.**

_**They are respectful; never do they move on in the generations. They always remain sane of the beginning of their very clan. The thieves that have died in the Cooper Clan are honored to the highest degree. They are studied; they are worshipped; by the newer members, from members who are inexperienced at life itself. Never to they joke, never do they spit on the very names of their great ancestors of the past. They know, that without them, the clan would have no name, would not be known, and would be a faded folder on the desks of Interpol.**_

_**They are organized; strange as it is, they know the pattern in which the world survives. The pattern of which all kinds get along; all religions, all races, everything working together to make one huge operation; life. Coopers have studied in their explorations, have observed, just watched the very people they have stolen from. Gathering more and more information, building an indestructible empire of knowledge. With this they work in sync with their souls, work to accomplish any task that may be at hand, and to better themselves, and establish their name to be seen within all the names of the Cooper Clan organization itself.**_

_**They are intelligent; thieves are the ones who are suppose to be brainless, and it seems so in most cases. Coopers have never been caught; anything that happens to them is exactly what they wanted to happen. They have gangs generally, they have them for the sake of not being discovered as the intelligent beings they really are. Each Cooper is broken by their own flesh and blood, is tore down on so many levels to the point of utter depression. Within their own destruction, they rebuild gathering more strength, more knowledge, just to show that they are worth something, all the while proving that they had the strength all along, and it had to be beaten out of them.**_

_**They are warriors; strength can come in many forms, forms many don't understand. Coopers along with their intelligence, and along with their natural born talent of thievery, have a dominant attribute of warrior. It overrides all senses, and if a Cooper when threatened to breaking point by a rival, will lose the control of which they had. This is a weakness; this is also what makes victories possible. The unbelievable strength is hard to imagine, normal people in the every day cities have bursts of such power, whilst they never think that Cooper Clan members hold the urges down every day. **_

_**They are misjudged; from the beginning of time, all Coopers have been discriminated because their ability to steal, and because they do so. They do not harm the innocent; do not steal their belongings they hold so dear. That is not in their characters, nor is it right. Every heist, every thing stolen is an effort against other criminals. To end their reign, and to end their evil practices. The law is to blind, is black and white against the gray they show so often, that they present, that they offer. Though they are not looked upon as heroes they always withhold the name until death, the very end of all existence. **_

_**They are determined; if a vault won't open, if they are cornered, if they are bleeding half to death, they will succeed. The vault will be crushed in with a single strike of the hand and the jewels within taken. Enemies cornering them will face an unmerciful beating, a lesson not to ever corner said thief again. If they are bleeding to the point of dieing, they will rise to their feet and fight until their last breath escapes their lips. When they hit the floor, and the grim reaper comes, they smile and proudly accept his hand. **_

_**They are opinionated; all Coopers share the same brain wave pattern. It is one wave that does not follow the rules; it wavers, shrinks, widens, spins, curls, and does whatever it pleases. That tiny strand of thinking contains all the opinions that do not relate to thievery, to the golden name of the Cooper Clan. It's not bad, nor is it good however. For some, it is easy to swallow down, to push away into the darkness. Others they get to many ideas get to many opinions for their own good; this leads to their own self-destruction.**_

_**The Coopers have morals, they have codes, and they have values. They stick to their values and stick up for them as well. Their codes are what wake them up every morning, what makes them rise. Their morals are not to be trifled with, they are not to be laughed at, and if they are, the person who did, will face the harshest ways of the Coopers. **_

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**Shutting the dusty book,** Sylvester James Cooper, the latest of the Cooper line silently slid it back into place underneath his bed. His eyes traveled towards the window, bright lights littered the sky, as well a large circle of light. The vision was blurred by his own exhaustion, it was angering that he couldn't see hardly anything, but the anger was only a hint compared to the despair he felt.

The clothes on his back, and the book stowed under his bed, were the only things he was aloud to keep. It was strange for the captor to let him keep something that might help him, like the Thevious Raccoonus. There was no way to defeat his enemy, his enemy controlled him and in doing so, the raccoon had no power over anything. All his readings, all his teachings were lost in a swirling black hole every time the man entered the room.

His lips were dried, and he had no salvia left to even wet them. The fur covering all of his body was now un-kept, muddy, and traces of blood throughout it. Bruises lied within his fur, and millions of others, self-inflicted, or the guards simply beating him to a bloody pulp. The eyes that once were said to hold the very secrets to thieving were now dulled, were now broken, just like their owner. He was a changed man, and might never go back.

Not only his physical, and outside appearance was gone, but also his mental aspect. Thoughts from Cooper contained the darkest, and most vile things one person could ever think of. Disturbing nightmare-ish things, usually containing his own thoughts of suicide, dieing at his own two hands…the same hands that got him into this situation…

Somebody as strong willed as Sly Cooper could never be broken completely. He held onto precious thoughts about when he was free, about his love, and his friends. It hurt to think about it, hurt to even picture the old days. The friends he once had, had probably forgotten all about him. His love didn't even love him in return, and had cursed him, cursed his name.

The hell he was in was one nobody could rescue him from, nor could he properly return to society like the Thief he once was. Often he explored the fact that somebody else was now top dog, that somebody had taken his place on the totem pole. Could somebody be as good as him at what he did? Could they own the power that burned so great during his reign as Master Thief?

Sylvester often tried not to think, tried to picture himself in a white room with nothingness. His purpose was lost between all the screams of pain, between all the blood he shed, his very life slipping away. The raccoon couldn't end it with his hands, his captor wouldn't let him, wouldn't let him end his life. The rival wanted to see him suffer, to see him bleed, to see for once in all of Cooper history, a raccoon broken beyond all repair, and never to be fixed.

So far that wish hadn't come true, for the raccoon didn't show any signs of being broken. When he was first captured, he was cocky, rude, angry, and even cracked jokes while getting torture. As the days grew into weeks, as the weeks grew into months, as the months grew into a single year, that's when the first sign was shown. No more cocky attitude, now he greeted the captor with respect, not that he had a choice to begin with. Jokes were lost among the murderous screams of a tortured soul.

The prisoner wasn't treated like a human, wasn't treated like what he deserved to be treated like. Prisoners usually aren't ever treated with any kindness, but even on the month-to-month basis they may receive a complement, may make allies in the prisons. Though, there was now way this could possibly happen for Sylvester James Cooper. He was all-alone in his own personal cell, a prisoner in a prison with nobody but he in it.

He couldn't decide whether this or the 'hole' was worse when he first arrived. Soon enough he discovered this was hell, specially dedicated to Coopers. The prison itself was designed to keep any Cooper within it, in it for all eternity. It was built in honor of the Cooper Clan, and only once before, Tennessee Cooper was locked with it, though he escaped within a year's days.

Unlike the times of when the gun-slinging ancestor, they had taken even more caution. There were to many weapons, and traps to catch him that he'd lost count. Plus for the fact his prison warden was the devil. The man had supernatural powers, powers only seen by he and Tennessee Cooper. He'd lived for a paranormal amount of years, and stayed in the prison awaiting the arrival of a captured Cooper.

Even worse than Clockwerk himself, not even considering killing the unfortunate souls, he kept them within that prison. When Sly had arrived he remembered the occasion with a bitter taste of now stained blood upon his tongue; the warden hadn't said a word as the raccoon was seated roughly into one of the office chairs in the dingy and file ridden room. The only thing the warden had said was a punch to the face and kick to the side.

That day, the raccoon had lost his will, had lost all inner strength to fight, for the man had taken if from him. He'd never escape, that was the recurring thought, never. Everybody you ask will say in a cheery opinion that never isn't a word. When you ask people that have been through the worst life has to offer them, have stared death right in the eyes and growled, that have faced the very likes of hell itself, you'll get a completely different answer.

Seated in a cell with barred windows the raccoon's sanity drained to the point of now return. The etched features of a distant life now were fading, but they'd always be there somehow, even in a unobtainable ghostly form…they were there.

"Ah, my _**favorite**_ prisoner."

That's the devils voice. The evil musical voice of the man who tortured Sylvester's soul; the man who had made sure that one thing was accomplished during the raccoons stay, that he was referred to as the devil. Easy enough some might comment, though the raccoon knew that at first, he didn't give him to much credit on how twisted and disgusting the man really was.

The voice itself was warned from years, almost as cold as the metallic voice of Clockwerk himself. Even the avian would agree that the voice was evil, and that maybe there was somebody even more evil than him. It dripped of heavy venom, almost to clarify it could murder. No emotions of sensibility of good ran through those dirty musty vocal cords. That didn't surprise Sly to say the least.

The sound of it reminded him of his worst nightmares. Reminded him of the villain's voices, all of them, mashed together in one heartless attempt to break him from just the sound. If his voice itself was so terrible, what could on expect from the rest of him?

Dressed in a official uniform given to him by the law, it granted him the authority to beat the living shit right out of his prisoners. Not that he needed authority to do that, somebody as cold, and untouchable like him, probably had the whole division of police on their knees and hands begging for him to take the uniform and spare them. The man didn't need authority, which was clear; all he needed was himself…even in the most ridiculed attire he looked threatening.

Being yourself in his case was being the most feared man in all existence. Besides the unneeded clothing he wore weapons strapped around him, weapons he used as toys. It was rewarding and made him feel the good to see a prisoner holding the weapon, hurting themselves, not because they wanted too, but because he forced them too. The weapons didn't however lead to the raccoon's death, as much as he wanted them too. They just led to more pain.

"You look terrible." The warden circled the cage mocking him to the point of were most would wildly attack the bars in front of them in attempt to fight the evil man. Sly had learned that wasn't the smartest idea, nor was it meant to be thought of as an idea at all. "Maybe you need a bath…would you like a bath Cooper?"

The thought of a bath made the raccoon's blank expression falter; he remembered the feeling of warm water descending down his body, soaking if fur making him feel that all his stresses were going down the drain. Where as now, he was sprayed with a hose that contained the iciest coldest water that the earth had ever seen.

"Perhaps your lonely? Would you like to write a letter? Maybe call home?" The voice dripped in seriousness, but at the same time sounded like the sarcasm that the raccoon had come to know. Nobody was at home waiting for him, wanting to help him, they had all been shown for what they truly were when he was captured. The raccoon didn't care, he didn't want anybody to face this prison, nor could he actually fathom the idea of somebody breaking into hell.

No reply came from the prisoner, and this made the warden grin, "You know what Cooper…since you've been so good lately, why don't you just come out of the cell and stretch yourself out." The offer also came with the door being opened. The guards looked at each other with knowing grins, all knowing if that raccoon walked outside those bars he'd be beaten once again.

"Now come on, don't be like that." The warden said stepping inside the cell, walking straight up to the much shorter raccoon he stopped. His face was looming, a darkened shadow as the thief tilted his head upwards to look at it. There was a recognizable difference between the two men. For one the man was a giant, very tall, and was well built in muscles. The raccoon was very strong and powerful looking too, but wasn't as tall, and the height that he was competing against, was abnormal to begin with.

"I should stay in here sir." The raccoon tried backing away but his shoulders were grabbed and he was pulled back in front of the warden. There now no softness, fake softness as before, now there was the same spiteful voice the raccoon knew like a song that played over and over on the radio. Looking into the depth of the brown eyes, with his eyes own crimson ones, the raccoon felt the fear rise up in his chest.

"You don't give the orders." The warden growled pushing him back into the bars, the force made the raccoon's head crack against them, and within seconds he was a crumpled form on the floor. Before he couldn't attempt to stand up, he felt powerful kicks come to his side. They were meant to do only two things, make him lose what dignity he still withheld, and two to break the already million timed broken ribs.

"I'm sorry sir." The raccoons voice begged for him to stop pleading that maybe he'd die finally. The warden shook his head and let out a booming laugh, the kicks stopped all at once, though the pain stayed there. Slowly he rose his foot in the air and planted it right in the middle of Cooper's back stepping on it with his full weight. The still young man cried out in pain, but didn't move as the warden spoke again.

"Whom are you owned by?" He questioned.

"You, sir." The raccoon's voice, seeming to be a whisper.

"Whom do you listen to?" He pressed his foot down harder.

"Your, sir." The raccoon replied again his voice hoarse.

"Whom don't you question?" He asked stepping even harder into the raccoon's spine.

"You, sir!" He yelled out letting it be known that he was on the verge of tears.

"Good." The warden said with a feral smile on his face of pleasure. His foot was removed from the 19 year olds back. Backing away he watched in amusement as Sly dragged himself to his bed resting himself against the bolted down frame. "Now was that necessary? I thought you said that you listen to me?" Coming closer to the raccoon he gave a swift kick to his stomach, "Did I tell you to move!"

Cooper slowly crawled back to were he was before and laid on his stomach. His face buried in the cement floor, the warden chuckled in content as he repositioned his foot on the raccoon's back, "Now…tell me, Sylvester, do I really need to use my abilities to make you listen?" The question's answer rang through the raccoon's head like a raging bull.

"No, sir." He whimpered as the spikes of the heavy boot dug into bare flesh.

"Correct." The warden chided removing his boot from his back, "Guards, he really deserves a bath don't you think?" Adding a question afterwards, the guards nodded and entered the cell without hesitation. The raccoon backed away again but was grabbed by each arm, the warden punched him in the face, "I didn't tell you to move Cooper." His voice sneered as he gave a last hit to the raccoon's gut before leaving him to be forcibly given a bath.

The raccoon coughed up blood as he was basically carried down the hallways by the larger armor covered guards. The blood leaked over the already stained hallways, and he found himself feeling the bile rise within himself. He didn't have time to vomit however, because within seconds he was thrown in the washroom. A male guard ripped his clothes off of him and pushed him forward with a riffle to the back.

Another guard began showering the raccoon with the hose, which made the raccoon yelp at the coldness. He didn't dare move from were he was, another hard lesson he'd learned when he had first arrived. If he did move, he wouldn't have to worry about showering with the hose, his own blood would do that for him, and even if it was warmer, it gave the same affect as the cold pulsating water did.

Finally after what seemed decades of the ice age, the guard stopped. The raccoon was given a towel and his same dirty clothes. Pushed back to his cell with just the towel covering his shaking frame, he fell to his knees on the ground shivering violently. His jaw chattered, and he felt as if he was on the verge of hypothermia. Ignoring the ice that encased his body, the raccoon made his way to the lone bed.

It felt like rocks and was never changed; the raccoon hugged his knees with the towel still around himself. Slowly he let the towel become his clothes, it was warm, though it was the same towel he used last week, he loved it. The feeling of something besides the blood soaked thief suit he usually wore, he got to feel a different material. Even if it was filthy it was something new.

"Cooper your clothes look sort of shabby, the warden says to wear these." A guard threw an outfit inside the cell. A short glance made the raccoon turn his head away in disgust, it was a regular white and black striped uniform. The warden always threw in one every week, the reason? He wanted to instill the fact that the raccoon was his eternal prisoner. The raccoon however didn't cooperate on wearing it.

Slowly he shimmied into his clothes and threw the towel on the uniform before lying down on the bed, the only thing in the cell, and covering himself with the sheet of the bed, and lying his head down on no pillow. The bed itself was made of metal, the entire sheet was all it possessed, a pretty uncomfortable thing people will say…but for the raccoon it was safety from torture.

His mind was blank of any thoughts, and this let a small smile curl upon his lips. His brown eyes shut and the raccoon began to softly breath as he fell into a dreamless white-roomed sleep.

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**Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Sly Cooper Characters, Sucker Punch Has All Rights. Time of Dieing is Owned by Three Days Grace**


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